


Amicus Certus

by Snowgrouse



Category: Actor RPF, Basil Rathbone - Fandom, British Actor RPF, Conrad Veidt - Fandom, Conrad Veidt/Basil Rathbone, German Actor RPF - Fandom, Old Hollywood RPF, Veidtbone
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Closeted Baz, Closeted Character, Closeted Even To Himself Baz, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gayngst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Angst, Orientation wangst, POV Bisexual Character, POV switch, PWP, Period Attitudes Towards Sexuality and Gender, Prompt Fic, RPF, RPS - Freeform, Repressed Baz, Rimming, Sexual Orientation, Shameless Smut, Tenderness, Unabashedly Bisexual Veidt, Unpolished, Veidtbone - Freeform, World War II, instafic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7191644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowgrouse/pseuds/Snowgrouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"The term is <b>bisexual,</b>"</i> Basil remembers Connie telling him that very first night they'd met, when they'd still been just friends. With frankness, Connie had told him this; with challenge, the way he'd looked into his eyes. As if he could see into his soul, see all his sins within, all the cocks sucked, all the frots that didn't end after public school. Before him lies a man who had lived his true nature openly in his Berlin days, loving both women and men, with a courage he could scarcely believe was real.</p><p>Larry had warned Basil about Connie, if not in detail. But now that he knows the man himself, he can only imagine how formidable he must have been ten years ago, when he'd initiated Larry into all the sins of Berlin. Faggot or no, you wouldn't pick up a fight with a six foot three man with the bearing of an emperor, the eyes of a big cat, a man who could crush you with a <i>glance.</i></p><p>Those eyes are still staring into his in the twilight, the setting sun's rays refracting through them as if they were glass. As always, they demand honesty from him. </p><p><i>"I know what I am,"</i> Connie had told him in no uncertain terms, that first night; <i>"do you?"</i> he'd asked Basil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amicus Certus

**Author's Note:**

> Very quickly written instafic and not nearly as fancy as my fictional character fic, but I'm posting it here anyway--since at least here, the hit counter tells me whether people even read the stuff! So, here you go. The title is an allusion to the Latin phrase "amicus certus in re incerta;" "a sure friend in an unsure matter." i.e. a friend in need is a friend indeed. In this case, Connie not being fazed by Baz's uncertainty about his desires. Rumour has it Connie had a habit of being supportive of guys unsure about their bisexuality (like Laurence Olivier, the "Larry" in this story, whom he *did* apparently drag to all the gay bars in Berlin to help him get the fuck over himself). Yes, you read that right: the man was slash fiction come to life.
> 
> Oh, and why Connie/Baz? Well, once it came to light that a) [Connie and Baz used to write badfic together](http://aikainkauna.tumblr.com/post/126285597188/aikainkauna-one-of-conrads-best-friends-in) and that b) Baz had an occasional weakness for men and c) these badfic sessions included alcohol, especially when d) Mr. "Let Mich Helf You Vith Youw Bizexualität" was known to start glomping all his male friends while drunk... c'mon. It was inevitable.
> 
> And last but not least, thanks to Ataslightangle/Filmforfancy for the beta.

***

"You're a nightmare," Basil groans as he falls onto the bed, slipping out of Connie.

"Mm?" Connie says, wincing a little as he turns onto his side. All his muscles are cramped and sore and he is covered all over in sweat, but it was worth it. Basil had truly taken his time tonight, and Connie had come twice--one dry, one wet orgasm, the remains of which are now sticky upon his belly. 

Connie wraps his arms around Basil in thanks and hugs him tight, yet Basil squirms and tries to avoid the aforementioned wet patch. 

"It's this kind of thing," Basil says and glances down. "You're like a woman," he says and means the clinging, but immediately regrets saying that the moment he sees Connie's frown. "I mean--I don't mean it in a bad way," he mutters.

Damn it. And to think that Connie, out of the two of them, is the one with less shame about his leanings, about his femininity; yet still, Basil can see some embarrassment upon his face, clearly a result of all the times Connie has been told off for it. Damn and blast, but Basil isn't good with words, rather actions; yet Connie isn't just some random lay and deserves honesty, deserves to be told he is appreciated. Just like a woman needs reassurance after sex, even if Connie isn't insecure in the same way women are. 

That's not the reason he needs some tender words at this juncture: it's rather because Connie has this capacity of living on a high plane of romantic intensity, and Basil, too, wants the magic to last; he doesn't want to plunge them down to earth just yet. He, too, wishes to live on that dream plane for as long as possible, to spin out moments like these, to keep them saturated with sweetness and warmth.

"I mean that in a good way," he murmurs again as Connie searches him with his eyes; "It's like you're a woman and a man at the same time, in the same body. I've never had that. Not in the one person."

"Even Marlene?" Connie grins. 

They are similar, that's true enough; still, Basil shakes his head. "She's rarely male and female simultaneously. At least in the time I have known her." Doubtless, Connie knows her better, has seen more of her antics in their Berlin days--God knows if they have shared lovers, even. Basil wouldn't put it past them to have done so, for Connie to have seen how Marlene takes a woman, and the thought of it now makes his cock twitch a little, despite his fatigue. "Do you know what I mean?"

"Perhaps," Connie says, but there is something curious in his eyes, that devilish playfulness Basil can never quite figure out.

"It's the way you _respond,_ " Basil says, and he feels like an idiot for saying that, but Connie makes him into an idiot, and he has to get this out while he still can. He caresses Connie's cheek, cupping it, marvelling at him. "I find myself doing something like this; the same way I would with a woman. Automatically. And the way you take me in, hold me when I'm inside of you... your eyes, the way you give, the way you open yourself. Men don't _do_ that," he says, frowning. "And yet you're still unquestionably male, and there is nothing artificial about your femininity either. No simpering. No giggling. You know how it is with--"

Homosexuals? Men like them? What kinds of men _are_ they? If not the flaming queers with flapping hands and sneering voices... and has he just called Connie one? Or is he trying to lift them above that, to put some distance between them and the fairies, trying to somehow still prove he and Connie are different, even though he's just had his cock up Connie's arse, for crying out loud? 

"Faggots?" Connie asks, raising a pointed eyebrow. He's heard this kind of thing before, sometimes from Basil himself. _"The term is **bisexual,** "_ Basil remembers Connie telling him that very first night they'd met, that brief period during which they'd still been just friends. With blunt frankness, Connie had told him this; with challenge, the way he had looked into Basil's eyes. As if he could see straight into his soul, see all his sins within, all the cocks sucked, all the frots that did not end after public school. Before Basil lies a man who had lived his true nature openly in his Berlin days, loving both women and men, with a courage Basil could scarcely believe was real. 

Years ago, when Connie had first moved to England, Larry had warned Basil about him, although not in detail. But now that he knows the man himself, he can only sketch an image in his mind of how formidable Connie must have been before the Nazis had driven him out. Ten years ago, when Connie had initiated Larry into all the sins of Berlin, and Basil can only imagine--that, and he is sure there are plenty of things he _can't_ imagine. But faggot or no, you would not pick up a fight with a six foot three man with the bearing of an emperor, the eyes of a big cat, a man who could crush you with a _glance._

Now, those eyes are still staring into his in the afternoon twilight, the setting sun's rays refracting through them as if they were light blue bottle-glass. As always, they demand honesty from him, always making Basil feel like such a coward in his company, Connie's bravery so much greater than his, his inner strength so much greater than his. This man who lies underneath him and moans with the husky voice of a woman is a greater hero than he himself could ever be, Basil thinks, and it is in Connie's company that he somehow feels braver, much greater a man than he does whenever Connie's not there. 

_"I know what I am,"_ Connie had told him in no uncertain terms, that very first night; _"do you?"_ he had asked Basil. 

And now, Connie is again asking him that question with his gaze, patient, waiting. "You terrify me," Basil says, in all honesty. "I haven't been in..." and he swallows, hating himself, hating the way his eyes now close. "Love. Not in a long while. Not like this." He opens his eyes again. "And somehow it's doubly worse. You don't fall in love with men. You know it as well as I do. That's the rule."

Connie but looks at him. "There's no future for such love," he says, with regret, but there's no accusation in his voice. "Yet, here we are."

"Here we are," Basil says, his voice wavering as Connie presses a kiss to his palm. "Perhaps it's the woman in you that made me fall. Or am I making excuses again?" he laughs. "Again insisting I'm not _really_ a faggot?"

Connie's eyes twinkle with mirth, now. "Ooh, I don't know. You made me feel distinctly masculine, the way I wanted you. I even told Marlene about it."

"So, she knew?" Basil asks. He should've known. 

"Mm. She figured it out immediately. And she laughed when I told her," he says, now leaning towards Basil and pulling him closer, his eyes narrowing as he relishes the tale. "'He bent over and I wanted to _eat_ that arse,'" I told her. 'I wanted to throw him down and take him, _fuck him_ so hard he would be screaming my name.'"

Basil shivers; his cock is definitely waking up, now. He has never lain underneath Connie; not that he would be averse to the idea, but that's just how it's worked out so far. Never has he met a man as hungry, as openly greedy for cock as Connie--he's utterly ridiculous about it, too. And, well, what with Basil having an inch on him at least, he's naturally ended up on top, as it often happens with men. 

But to know Connie has dreamt of taking him, _God._ "What did she say to that?" Basil asks and licks his lips.

"She just laughed again," Connie grins, his crooked teeth glimmering. "I prefer being taken when it's men, but you..." he hisses, purrs and rubs up against him.

Basil has seen the way Connie pounces women, the theatrical manner in which he glides up to them, in true silent film style, and then strikes them like a cobra. Classic movie star behaviour, trying to impress women by putting on the screen persona even in real life--and surprising from someone with an ego the size of Connie's, Basil thinks. Unlike Basil, he doesn't have to compensate for his looks, has probably never been compared to a horse or a rat; the bastard is as handsome as can be, those clear blue eyes of his making Basil's heart flutter this very moment.

"You're welcome to try," Basil smirks in challenge. "I'm not sure if I would swoon and scream, however."

"Oooh, pity," Connie pouts. "I was quite particular about the screaming part."

And then there's silence. For a moment, Basil measures Connie curiously and Connie measures him back, but the fact of the matter is that Basil's back aches, and he is still tired from his exertions. "We need to do it at a better time," Basil says and cannot help but yawn. 

Even if they have saved up an entire day for each other--another romantic concession Basil would not have made for any other man, but it just happened that Lily had left for two weeks and, well. Connie was all alone in the house, with only the animals for company, and Ouida had practically pushed Basil out of the door, saying she needed some peace and quiet herself. 

"All right," Connie says, in a strange sort of amused way that leaves Basil restless, knowing he is going to have to watch his back. He doesn't like that look; more often than not, it is the portent of a prank or several. But Connie is already on his way to the bathroom, spending such a long time in there that Basil stops thinking, rolls over and falls asleep.

***

As the sun sets and paints the bedroom with gentle pinks and purples, Connie stands at the foot of the bed and watches Basil sleep. Hands tucked into the pockets of his dressing gown, cigarette in mouth, he regards Basil with a greed, a need that should--and does--frighten him. 

This was not supposed to happen. He hasn't had an affair in years; he was happy once he had settled down with Lily. The war had sobered him up, had given him bigger things to worry about; Viola's and Lily's parents' safety far more important than parties and affairs. More than ever, he had realised how much he was indeed loved by his family, how lucky he was to even have a family in the first place, how happy he was in comparison to so many friends of his that hadn't been so lucky. There's nothing like seeing friends and lovers _murdered_ to make you put down the drugs and the booze, he thinks with morbid sarcasm. There's nothing quite like it to get you off your arse, as they say here in England; he has never been as focused on his work as he is now. Never has he cared for his friends as much as he has now, knowing he could lose them any moment.

And this friendship with Basil, always so easy and sweet, he had cherished. He hadn't wanted to ruin it just because Basil had lit some old spark in him, just because he had recognised something familiar in Basil's eyes, a yearning that matched his. From the day he had met Basil, he had known him for one of his kind--he has a sixth sense for this, always being able to smell out a person who loved beyond the rules, someone with such a high degree of romanticism they could never be content with normalcy. Such people were never satisfied with just the one lover, always had a touch of both the male and the female to their being, and as a consequence, yearned for lovers of both sexes to fulfill the needs of this two-sexedness in themselves. 

But with Basil, it had always been more than just that: Basil had the heart of a poet, even if he was not that good at expressing it in spoken words. In fact, today he had opened up more than ever, and that had devastated Connie: always, always Basil had responded to him even if it had clearly been painful for him to do so. Always, always Basil had returned his love in equal measure, and by doing that, he had trapped him; Connie can't possibly let go of him now. Therefore, this is already more than just an affair, more than just something to amuse himself with, more than just something with which to fulfill his homosexual needs. It is a meeting of minds, a meeting of two individuals of that rarest of species: the true Romantic, now all but extinct from this world. 

In fact, he had thought this species extinct. Yet with Basil, he has been penning down all these Gothic fictions, scrawling down all these appalling jokes, Basil's sense of humour as bad as his. They've enjoyed the same music, the same books, both fiercely passionate about the things they love; in Basil he has found the rare man both intelligent and sensitive, more than enough to steal his heart.

And then there is his body. This body, lean and tall, a gymnast's figure, with firm and long muscles, an aristocratic posture. This body that he had craved even when he had first watched Basil on the screen, as he had watched him dance with sword in hand, far more interesting to look at than that obnoxious bastard Flynn. 

And it is this body that now lies before him a feast, Basil sprawled on his belly in his vast bed, his legs a little spread. So vulnerable, he rests there, his buttocks completely exposed, the shadows and the dark hair between his legs tantalisingly hiding his anus, where Connie has not ventured yet beyond a stray caress. Such firm and lean buttocks they are, too, beautifully formed, resting atop lean and strong thighs--oh, but Connie wants those thighs to wrap around _his_ waist for once, wants those hips that have given him so much pleasure to now open for him, to be pleasured in turn. He wants to feel the firmness of those buttocks against his hips, to feel their slap against his lower belly as he takes Basil from behind; he wants to feel them clenching as he slides inside Basil's body, Basil trembling around him as they're both undone.

Oh, but he wants, and he craves, and he needs; he can't take this any longer. He stumps his cigarette, slides off his dressing gown and glides onto the bed as silently as a cat; even if it makes him a thief, he now spreads Basil's legs and leans down to feast upon his arse. 

He shivers, his nostrils fluttering as he smells Basil's musk, his sweat, the scent of his glands between his legs; yet there's a faint smell of soap here, too, as if Basil had prepared himself for this, secretly hoped for this illicit kiss Connie is about to gift him with. Basil still hasn't woken up; now, Connie tries to keep from moaning as he imagines Basil cleaning himself in the shower, pushing a finger inside of himself, thinking of _him._ Oh, a Basil being fucked by him, lying underneath him, perhaps even riding him; Connie clenches his teeth as his cock hardens between his belly and the sheets.

And there, he spreads Basil's buttocks, again gently and quietly, Basil still not stirring. He parts the dark hair with his thumbs and reveals Basil's anus: it's as beautiful as he had hoped. It's a smooth, flat asterisk of pink flesh, not the well-used, protruding rosebud of eager sodomites, with no marks of venereal disease in sight. (Come to think of it, he should ask Lily if his own is raised, the next time she takes him with one of their marital aids--perhaps she could even take a picture). It's an arse virginal, even if he is sure Basil has been taken by men before: he had hinted as much, and had also hinted that these experiences had not been pleasurable. Connie had always wondered about Errol in particular, what with his reputation for sticking it into anything that moved, _particularly_ if it resisted; Connie had put two and two together and decided not to pry further. 

But this arse has not been violated in recent memory, at least: it looks healthy, smooth, a lovely warm and reddish pink amidst all this beautiful brown skin, the contrast a little shocking, even. This arse, Connie wants to take with love; this arse, Connie wants to pleasure until Basil loses his mind, wanting to prove to Basil that sodomy doesn't have to be painful.

"Mm?" Now, it seems Connie's victim has stirred.

Connie chuckles warmly and strokes Basil's buttocks. "Just admiring the view," he says. "You can go back to sleep."

Basil glances at him over his shoulder, bleary-eyed, too tired to say much. "Welcome."

But as Connie leans down and kisses him between the buttocks, flicks out his tongue and dips it into his arse, Basil is immediately awake enough to let out a wail. "Connie!"

"Mmm," Connie responds, chuckling again, now deep into Basil's flesh, knowing from experience how wonderful this feels as he allows his laughter to vibrate deep into Basil's hips. Basil--the strait-laced Englishman that he is--has never performed this act on him, but surely it isn't completely alien to him? "Has anyone done this to you before?"

"No," Basil says, a little shocked, even. "Oh, God," he moans into the pillow as Connie gives him another lick, laughing nervously, stiffening. "You don't have to, my dear fellow. I'm not sure if I'm all that clean, for a start."

"Do I look like I mind?" Connie murmurs, caressing Basil's arse with both hands, brushing his lips softly across the cleft of his buttocks, the curve of them. "It's a lovely arse," he declares. 

"Oh, well, then, if you must," Basil laughs, still oh, so nervously, but he spreads his legs nevertheless; from the way he shifts upon the bed and makes room for his genitals, Connie can tell he is hardening, can tell he is absolutely thrilled by this. 

But Connie is equally thrilled; he has not tasted this for a long time, the arse of a man, the salt of a man, his taste and fragrance so much stronger than a woman's. "Oh, God," he moans himself as he takes a deep lick, another off Basil's arse, Basil seemingly amused by this; "you taste wonderful," he murmurs, nuzzling the small of Basil's back. "Wonderful," he says and then there are no more words: he sets down to worship.

He sets down to worship, spreading Basil's arse, glad that there is still enough light left for him to see it all: he blows on the wet rosette of muscle a little, and is delighted as he is rewarded by a little clench from Basil, a little restless squirm from him. With a soft moan, he dips his tongue in once more, extending it as best as he can, keeping it stiff as he probes deeper; Basil is now trembling underneath him, struggling not to touch himself, seemingly wanting to prolong this pleasure himself. Connie is in no hurry, either; he uses his fingers and tongue to spread open every single fold of Basil's anus, unfold each little fleshly petal of its bud, licking each and every crease clean of his taste, hungry for more, more. 

Oh, but Connie wants to devour him. Greedy, now, snarling, he grabs his own cock and strokes it; now, it hurts more the harder he gets, the more his sore skin is stretched by his cock's filling. So well Basil had taken him that he had rubbed himself to the point of pain underneath him as he'd come; yet, he cannot stop touching himself, now, cannot stop thinking of soon being inside of this delicious hole that now clenches around the tip of his tongue. This is how this arse will clench around his cock, soon, soon; those little mewls that Basil now makes will grow even louder once Connie _fucks him through the mattress._

Basil clutches at the sheets and moans, shivering, now pushing his arse back into Connie's kiss with a new hunger; he muffles curses into the pillows but now he is moving, moving. Moving like the dancer he is, pushing his hips back as if this were one of his swordfights, challenging Connie with this dirty treasure Connie so craves. With a dark groan, a laugh, as if he couldn't believe how disgusting he was being himself, Basil pushes out with the muscles of his arse as if evacuating. It shocks Connie, delights Connie so much that he cannot help but groan deep into Basil's body, his mouth filling with saliva at this delicious new must and metal and salt offered to his tongue. Again, he stiffens his tongue and pushes it in as deep as he can; he follows it with his head, pressing Basil into the bed with such force the bedposts creak. He takes Basil with his face, with his skull, pounding the bones of his face into those of Basil's pelvis; he _fucks_ him with his tongue, a promise of what's to come. 

"Please!" Basil cries, but Connie ignores him; he smacks Basil's arse with hard blows of his hands, clawing and squeezing at his buttocks, himself now rocking into the mattress, rutting into it furiously. 

"Please, what?" Connie rasps. "Is this the moment you'll beg me to fuck you?" he asks, an outrageous line, but he always was a melodramatic ham, he can't lie. He laughs, an equally outrageous, villainous laugh and smacks both of Basil's buttocks, pulling open his anus with his fingers and sticking his tongue inside the little gape that's now formed in the middle of it, pushing his tongue in as deep as it will go and he _groans._ Groans so that his tongue vibrates inside of Basil's flesh, deep into his bones, so that he can feel the tremors of his own voice echoing into his hands still cupping Basil's buttocks. 

Basil's only answer is a keening howl: he lifts his arse up and spreads his knees, his face still down in the pillows, one of his hands now reaching down to stroke his cock. He pushes back at Connie, and Connie answers in equal measure, now pulling Basil's arse open even more brutally, using his thumbs, licking at him all over. He spits into Basil's arse and laps up the spit now flavoured with Basil's must, adoring how much taste there is still left in him, the way Basil shivers and tenses and trembles and moans at the pleasure of it. He wants to make sure that Basil will never forget this, that no matter whom he gets fucked by, no matter who it is that licks him will not be better than him; he wants to write his name upon Basil's flesh forever, deep inside of him a secret that no one else will know, a love that no other will ever reach.

"Ask me, Baz," Connie says, roughly, now slapping Basil's arse again, withdrawing, licking salty, metallic spittle from his lips. "Ask me to fuck you," he snaps, slapping Basil right on his hole, daring to be this rough with him by instinct--it is a terrible risk to take, but a splendid success, the way Basil now howls and lifts onto all fours, moving as if he was being fucked already. 

"Please," Basil says, and it breaks Connie's heart how tender, how genuine his voice is. How there is true need behind this plea, not just his actor's nature responding to this improvised play of Connie's. Basil spits into his hand and strokes his cock, rocking against Connie's mouth, looking at him over his shoulder. His hair is tousled, his eyes so young and so sad; there's always that silent grief in them, as if he were born melancholy. Again, he moans, his voice shot through with a terrible need. "Please, Connie. Please take me."

With a soft, triumphant sigh, Connie kisses Basil's arse deep, deep, his own cock leaping in his fist at Basil's wail; he hugs Basil's hips to himself with his free hand and chuckles, purrs. "I will. Where did you put the cream?"

"I thought you had it?"

Connie glances at the bedside table--thank God the cream is still there. Swiftly, he prepares himself and leans over Basil, pressing his slickened cock to Basil's arse; he shares some of the cream with Basil, giving him some to stroke himself with. Softly, gently he gets into position, kissing his way up Basil's back; he pulls Basil's hair aside and kisses his mouth as much as he can as he mounts him. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Basil says, but it's clear from his voice that he's trying to be brave, trying to suffocate some terrible memory of the past.

But in this voice, there's also a stubborn trust, and Connie can hear this, too, loud and clear: Basil knows that Connie knows how being taken feels like, better than he himself does; as Connie begins to push inside with little nudges, Connie can feel Basil is forcing himself to relax. Connie pushes in and retreats immediately, knowing this dipping movement is the best way to loosen the muscles: even if Basil feels amazing on the inside, the little hollow of wet flesh that now clutches around the tip of Connie's cock so hot it makes him swoon, he knows Basil will kill him if he rushes it. Oh, but Basil is so wonderful to look at as he trusts him thus; that long, lean back rippling as Connie patiently opens him, waits for him.

In and then out. In, then out, a little deeper each time; Basil knows to breathe deep around him, sweet around him, and with a desperate, hoarse cry from him, his flesh finally gives and Connie slides in.

Connie holds him, holds him through this, this terrible stiffness and pain that now consumes Basil, not letting go of him until it slowly begins to melt into pleasure. "Shh, shh. Breathe," he whispers, kissing Basil's shoulders, leaning over him, hugging him; "Breathe deep. That's it. Deep, deep," he murmurs. "Oh... but you feel so good. So good, Baz. So good, oh--"

Now, Basil but sobs into his arm, his body cramping and heaving in Connie's embrace; but in this cramping, there's also the first spark of pleasure, a heat rising as he begins to roll his hips back into Connie, forcing his body past the initial pain. Further and further, Basil pushes himself past that brief discomfort, and into the arms of the enormous joy that he knows awaits him on the other side. He is stubborn in his quest for this pleasure, stubborn in wanting to prove himself to Connie, and it melts Connie's heart; he moves with Basil as well as he can until they find a common rhythm, until Basil's noises finally melt into moans that are unmistakably those of delight.

"How does that feel?" Connie asks with a soft roll of his hips, smiling, nuzzling Basil's cheek over his shoulder.

"Wonderful," Basil sighs, lifting his head a little, answering Connie's kiss. His body is now so open, yet so tight, so heated and so sweet that Connie fears unravelling this very minute; therefore, it comes as a blessing that Basil immediately follows this with a request that breaks Connie's surge towards orgasm. "But I want to see your face. Let me turn around."

"Blimey," Connie says, deliberately throwing out an Englisher-than-English word as he sees the size of Basil's erection, relishing the way Basil pfffts at him and bursts into laughter. Oh, but he loves to see Basil laughing, loves to see his face lit up by delight.

"Never say that again," Basil cackles and spreads his legs. "That's terrible."

"I'll show you terrible," Connie grumbles as he takes Basil's legs over his shoulders, as he adds a little more cream and begins to push inside of him. "There. Now. _That's_ a terrible thrust--"

"Ah! Careful!" Basil cries. 

"You wanted it this way, now take it," Connie laughs and nuzzles Basil's face. 

Oh, but Connie loves this position, so often demanding it of Basil himself--another one for the true faggots, the ones brave enough to sin face to face. But be his lover female or male, Connie loves seeing their faces as he takes them, as he is being taken; and the smile that now spreads onto Basil's face as Connie settles into a good rhythm makes his heart leap in his chest. That sorrow that always plays in Basil's eyes is now almost fully gone, his face so warm and so happy as he closes his eyes and lies there, enjoying being so pleasured. He barely strokes himself at all, in no hurry to come; he is clearly immersed in examining the sensations of being taken with skill and care for once, relishing this rare moment of willing surrender, exploring what it is like to be taken in love.

And trembling, tearful, reverent, Connie is more than glad to give Basil all of this, his heart swelling with love for him and hatred for all those who have hurt him. Oh, but he wants Basil to melt, wants to drive him mad from the pleasure of being taken; he knows exactly the types of deep hip rolls that drive women and men wild, and tries one on Basil. He slides in as deep as he can, then stays still, still until Basil opens his eyes, querying him: only then, does he drop his hips into a deep, deep roll, loving the way Basil's eyes fly wide, the way he now gasps for breath.

"Do that again!" Basil pants. "Oh, my God."

"There we are," Connie purrs as he does it again, again and again, glowing with delight as Basil goes insane underneath him, barely able to breathe. Connie always knows how to find the right angle, whether it be the womb or the prostate he is aiming for, even if he says so himself; again, he has succeeded, Basil's incredulous face a sight to behold. "I'll just keep on doing this, shall I?" he chuckles.

"Mm. Hh-yes--!"

"Righto," Connie chuckles into Basil's neck.

"Oh, God. You're horrible," Basil groans, bursting into laughter. "Why don't you try saying something in... I don't know, German or something?"

"I only love Lily in German, I'm afraid. I've promised."

"Something less British, then!"

"I have a better idea. How about I just do this?" Connie says, tilts his head and begins to fuck Basil in earnest. He starts to plow into him with such force and speed that Basil has to hang onto the bed for dear life; but he certainly isn't complaining, from the way his cock seems to-- _somehow_ \--still swell in his hand, from the way he is now screaming his head off. This is Connie's favourite part--oh, one of many, to be fair: the part where he's truly driving his lover onto the brink of madness, and, well, orgasm. 

Basil is clearly near, so Connie keeps up the exact same rhythm, slowing his thrusts down a little, but not turning them any shorter: he still keeps moving deep into Basil, making sure to thrust at that angle that he thought made Basil shiver the most. "Come, then," he rasps, kissing Basil's jaw; "Want to see you come on my cock," he groans. "You feel so good, so good--"

" _You_ feel so good!" Basil moans at him, now stroking his cock in a faster rhythm, staring up into Connie's eyes, shaking his head. His voice is beautiful in its despair, his hair sticking to his forehead. "You feel so good, so good, so good, your cock feels so good--"

"Say that again," Connie snarls, teasing Basil with his lips on his; "say that again," he says, with the implied "faggot" hanging there between them, making Basil buck up into his thrusts.

"Your cock feels so good," Basil snarls, looking straight into his eyes, honest in his love for it and Connie adores him, adores; "Feels so good when you fuck me. Fuck me, _fuck_ me--!"

But now, Connie is drinking Basil's cries into his mouth: he devours these screams, these faggot noises from Basil's throat, the tremors that begin in Basil's chest now transmitted into his own body. He bathes in this, the purest of pleasures, of true love between two men, love; Basil's arse squeezing around him, his legs clutching around him as Basil now drops them to Connie's waist and begins to come undone. Howling, Basil wraps one arm around Connie's neck, his ankles digging into the small of Connie's back; again, Connie seeks his mouth and takes it, never ceasing in the steady rhythm of his thrusts, Basil's knuckles burning against his belly. And then the burn is gone and there's only the slickness of Basil's sperm, a deep wail ringing in Connie's skull as Basil screams his orgasm into his mouth: keening, he takes Connie into himself, his arse as hot as a furnace as it loosens and then squeezes and then loosens around him again, dragging around his cock tight, tight, tight. 

And it's now that Connie can finally himself let go, thrusting into this new looseness, openness engendered by Basil's release; now it is he who is crying into Basil's mouth, pressing Basil's head into the pillow as he takes his mouth, his tongue trembling against Basil's as he empties himself into his body. His balls, his cock hurt from all the sex they've had today, ache even more now as he reaches his final release, but it's worth it, all worth it. He hugs Basil's body tight against himself as he gives himself unto him, Basil still rocking back into him in the aftershocks of his own pleasure, chuckling and squeezing around Connie's cock deliberately to milk every last drop of his sperm out of him. 

And Connie keeps on coming and coming, so grateful that Basil trusts him like this, trusts his body into his hands like this, gives him this. He sobs as his mouth smacks off Basil's, sobs against Basil's cheek as he collapses into him, ripples his last into Basil's flesh, falling onto the sweet hardness of his body, his male body, his loving body.

"I love you," Connie meaows softly into Basil's shoulder, pulling him into his arms and rocking him, rocking him; "I love you, I love you, I love you," he whispers and he doesn't care if this love of his is damned, no, he doesn't care.

"And I love you, too, you idiot," Basil whispers into his ear, squeezing around Connie's cock still nestled inside of him, sighing a little as that makes Connie slip out of him. He pushes Connie down and straddles him, takes him with a deep kiss; uncaring of the mess now leaking out of his arse, he still rocks upon Connie's body, hugging him tight in turn. "I do. For better or for worse, so God help me."

Connie groans and hugs him back. "We're both idiots. But I don't care. I'd--I'd offer you a drink, but--" his arms flop onto the bed, spaghetti. "Bllrgh."

Basil laughs and rolls off him, picking up the cigarette case and lighter off the bedside table. He lights one and offers it to Connie, then lights one for himself. They lie there for a long while, smoking in comfortable, friendly silence; there is no need for words. Even Basil seems to have relaxed completely for a rare moment, as if sex were an opium for him, taking away the illness of his inborn sorrow; after this revelation, Connie makes a decision to medicate him with sex as often as he can.

"They do say prostate massage is good for one's mental health," Connie says conversationally.

"Who does?" Basil sputters. "One of your German quacks?" 

He has a point--it's the German doctors who've traditionally come up with the strangest of cures and the bizarrest of treatments. "Some of them know their stuff," he says defensively. "Apparently you live longer and all that, and never get prostate cancer."

" _You_ would say that, you old tart," Basil says. He stumps his cigarette, stretches and groans, laying his hand on Connie's belly. "In that case, I'm going to make you live forever," he murmurs into Connie's side. "With my healthy and nutritious cock."

Connie stumps his own and gathers Basil into his arms. "I won't protest to that. But we need a wash. Come on."

"Later," Basil grumbles. "And didn't you just shower?"

"Yes, but look where I've been."

Basil takes this as an opportunity to let out a disgusting, sperm-wet fart.

"Oh, God!" Connie groans and rolls his eyes.

"Seems I won this time," Basil smirks--today had started with one of their competitions on who could write the most disgusting stories. 

"Come here. I won't have you ruining my bed. If any of that touched the sheets--" Connie groans and begins to drag Basil into the shower, but not before he has checked the sheets. Thankfully, there aren't that many wet spots, and none of them are of the brown variety.

"What would you do? Make me sleep in the kennel?" Basil laughs as they step into the bathroom.

"Now, there's a thought," Connie says and smacks him on the arse. "Don't use up all the hot water." 

"Come shower with me, then," Basil says and pulls him into the tub with a kiss.

"I was going to," Connie grumbles, but then Basil is kissing him with his mouth full of water, and Basil's body is lovely against his; now, he can grumble no more.

***  
END  
***


End file.
